


Breathing

by my_odestiny



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, Book 3: Mockingjay, F/M, Post-Mockingjay, mockingjay au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_odestiny/pseuds/my_odestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While fighting in the Capitol, Finnick Odair is caught in an explosion no one believes he could have survived, but Annie isn’t willing to accept his death, not yet. Mockingjay AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to contest winner an-awkward-potato(.tumblr.com).

_[Tumblr Link](http://my-odestiny.tumblr.com/post/91098238697/breathing-1-3) _

     “You have to go back for him!” Annie clawed her way towards President Coin even as a dozen hands tried to drag her from the control room. The monitors that lined the wall had gone dark in the explosion that engulfed Finnick’s body, but the Star Squad had radioed in that they were moving on without him.

     “Miss Cresta, I’m afraid he’s gone,” Coin told her flatly as she waited for Beetee to rewire the system.

     “Annie,” Haymitch’s voice was gentle in her ear, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, her waist. “Let’s take a walk.” 

     But Annie twisted from his grip, her gaze fixed on Coin. “He could still be alive!” she protested. 

     “No one could have survived that,” the President insisted. She nodded to her guards, and they wrenched Annie from Haymitch’s grip, towards the door. 

     She tried to dig her heels into the slick, grey floor. “You don’t know that!”

     President Coin frowned at her, “We can’t delay the mission.”  

     “So you’ll just leave him to die?!” 

     “This could be only opportunity to bring down President Snow. We cannot jeopardize the success of this mission for one soldier.” 

     “He’s not just a soldier,” Annie argued. “He’s a Victor, he’s a leader of the rebellion! What if it was Katniss down there?” 

     Coin didn’t hesitate to tell her, “Then she would die a hero of the Revolution.” 

     Annie’s jaw dropped open. “You’d let your Mockingjay die?”

     The President didn’t answer, her gaze expressionless.

     Annie gaped at her. “…Do you even have a plan to recover any of them from the Capitol?” 

     Coin turned back towards the darkened monitors, “Miss Cresta, I think it best that you go.” Her henchman continued to drag her towards the door, but Annie latched onto the frame. 

     “No!” she screamed. “If you don’t go back for Finnick, I’m going to tell everyone what you’ve done! I’ll tell everyone you left the Star Squad to die!”

     The guards pried one arm from the doorframe, then started on the next. Coin glanced back at her with disdain, 

     “Who’s going to believe you?” 

     It was then that Haymitch stepped forward, his brow drawn together, “I will.” 

     President Coin looked at him for a moment, then waved to her guards, “Let her go.” 

     The guards dropped her, and Annie stumbled onto her own feet. She looked at Coin, breathless from the struggle. Several seconds passed without another word from Coin, until finally Annie spoke up, “Well? Are you going back for him or not?” 

-

     The smoke settled from the septic air, and Finnick gasped in a breath. His lungs ached, his ears rang, the smell of white roses and charred flesh made him gag. It felt as if his every muscle was still burning down to the bone. But he wasn’t on fire—cold muttation scales stung his skin from every side, and it took every ounce of his strength to free his face from the tangle of mutilated, mutated flesh. He could breathe more easily then, though it wasn’t any less painful. The effort nearly robbed him of his consciousness. And if he blacked out, he knew he’d be dead.

     With another strain of effort, Finnick managed to free his arm, only to find that his radio had melted against his skin. He grit his teeth in pain, and his voice croaked in his throat as he cried out, 

     “H-help…Katniss…Jackson…Annie…” _Annie._ Her laughter echoed between the ringing in his ears, the gleam of her smile danced in spots before his eyes. They’d fought so hard, come so far to be together, and when she’d begged him to stay in District 13, he’d promised he’d come back to her. He couldn’t break that promise, he couldn’t break her heart. He couldn’t leave her alone in the world. But he couldn’t move. The pain crippled him, the air choked him. A white light opened above him. 

     “No…” Finnick could only whimper. He wasn’t ready to die, not before he’d carried Annie across the threshold of their new home on the shores of District 4, not before he’d waded through the waves with their child for the first time, not before he’d lived long enough to take Annie’s wrinkled hand in his own and tell her, after so many years, how beautiful she still was. But the light bore down on him, and he couldn’t escape it. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he prayed to whatever god might hear him, begged for a second chance. And just as he felt himself begin to slip away, the light turned to shadow beneath the outline of a hovercraft.


	2. Chapter 2

_[Tumblr Link](http://my-odestiny.tumblr.com/post/91478083572/breathing-2-3) _

Coin sent a recovery unit to find Finnick, or whatever was left of his body. Annie paced the room in which she’d been sequestered lest she stir up any more controversy. She knew that she needed to remain calm, that Coin had placed her just off the psych wing of the hospital, but as the hours dragged on, she found it harder and harder to breathe. She wrung her trembling hands until her fingers were red and aching, and when Haymitch finally walked through the door with news, she felt as though she might faint. 

     Haymitch took one look at her pallid face and sighed, “Sit down.” 

     Annie felt her throat begin to close up as tears sprung to her eyes, “Please tell me he’s okay, Haymitch. _Please_.” She sank into one of the metal chairs, her eyes pleading for good news. 

     Haymitch pulled up a chair across from her and sat. He stared at the floor for a moment as the right words formed in his head, and Annie couldn’t breathe until he spoke. 

     Finally, he looked up at her, “They found him. He’s alive.” 

     Annie let out a sob of relief, but Haymitch wasn’t finished, 

     “He’s in bad shape. They’re taking him straight to the ICU for emergency surgery.” He hesitated a moment before he added, “There’s not guarantee that he’ll make it.” 

     Tears rolled down Annie’s cheeks. “Can I see him?” she whimpered. 

     He shook his head, “Not until he’s stable.” 

     “Haymitch, please,” Annie’s shoulders crumpled beneath the strain, and Haymitch leaned forward to hold her. 

     “I know,” he murmured in her ear. “I know…” 

     She could hardly speak between sobs, “I can’t lose him now.” Not when they’d come so far, sacrificed so much. Not when they finally had a chance to be free, together. 

     “Just a little while longer,” Haymitch promised her, “And we’ll know for sure.” 

-

     Pain. His first waking sensation, a fire that engulfed every inch of his flesh, ate at his bones, made him want to fade back to a black, dreamless sleep and never wake up. Perhaps this was his punishment for leaving Annie, for failing the rebellion, for all the disgusting, horrid things that he’d ever done—eternal fire. 

     But a voice called his name, a voice not born of fire and malice but of cool ocean air. 

_Annie._ She was near. Her voice grew louder and and louder, until the sound began to sting. Other voices murmured around him, other sounds—beeps and shuffles and scrapes. But through it all, he heard Annie’s voice coaxing him, begging him, 

     “Finnick, wake up. _Wake up_.” 

     He didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t want to feel the pain. He didn’t want to find himself in Hell, where Annie’s mournful pleas would torment him forever. He wanted the hurt and the misery that plagued his life to end. He just wanted to sleep. 

     But Annie’s voice began to quiver in the darkness, and Finnick could feel his heart breaking in tandem with hers. He had to reach her. He struggled to gather his focus, his energy, determined to crawl out of the depths of the afterlife if he had to. And with every fiber of strength left in him, he finally managed to open his eyes. 

     “Finnick!” Annie’s face swam before him. He could smell her sigh of relief, feel her fingertips brush against his cheek, hear her sniffle back her tears. She was real, she was alive, and so was he. 

     “Annie…?” he gazed at her, still dazed and dizzy with pain. “Where are we?” 

     “We’re in 13,” she told him. “We got you from the Capitol.” 

     The memories of the sewer explosion gradually resurfaced in his mind—the fear of the mutts, the feel of their claws tearing at his flesh and of fire raining down on him, the despair that had overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t escape the rubble on his own. Tears pricked at his eyes. 

    “I thought I was going to die,” he breathed, his voice caught in his throat. “I thought I was dead.” 

     Annie shook her head, and she managed a teary smile, “I wasn’t about to let you go that easily.” 

     For a moment, relief overwhelmed him. He was alive, he was with Annie, and she was smiling—all he’d ever wanted. But like the ebb of a tidal wave, his pain had subsided only to resurge with an all-consuming strength. 

     Finnick squeezed his eyes shut once more, grit his teeth in agony. “What happened to me?” he groaned, tears stinging at his eyes once more. 

     Annie let out a shaky breath. “You’re burned,” she told him quietly. “You’ve broken a lot of bones.” 

     “Burned?” the word danced in his head, taunting him. “Where?” 

     “…Everywhere,” she whispered the word. 

     Finnick felt a lump rising in his throat. In all his years as a Mentor, he knew burns were the worst injuries he could possibly suffer. He hesitated to ask, “How bad is it?” 

     “The doctors are talking about skin grafts.” Annie hastened to add, “But you’re going to be okay. They said you’ll recover.”

     Finnick blinked back up at her, and the tears trapped behind his eyelids finally rolled down his cheeks, “ Can’t they do anything for the pain?” 

     “They’re giving you as much as they can,” she murmured. 

     Another moan slipped from his throat. He didn’t know if he could bear the pain, bear the dozens of surgeries, the months of bed rest, the years of physical therapy. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to look at himself in the mirror again. 

     Annie’s chair creaked as she leaned forward, and once again he felt her fingertips brush the bandages across his cheeks. “Is there anything I can do?”  

     His voice wasn’t more than a whisper, “Stay with me?” Perhaps she wouldn’t want to. She didn’t sign up to take care of a mangled invalid. She hated hospitals. She wouldn’t be able to go back to District 4 if she stayed for his treatment in 13. She had every reason to leave him, and he wouldn’t blame her. 

     Instead, he felt her fingers close around his bandaged hand as she promised him, “I’m not going anywhere.”


	3. Chapter 3

     The first weeks were the hardest. Annie spent most of them curled up in hospital chairs, waiting outside the Operating Room, or by Finnick’s bedside as he lay in agonizing pain. She cried until her eyes grew swollen and dark, and the stress left her hardly able to eat or sleep or think. Out of everything she’d been through—the Hunger Games, her internments in psych wards, her imprisonment in the Capitol—the first weeks after the Finnick’s explosion, listening to him groan in pain, not knowing if he’d make it through the next surgery, were the hardest days she’d ever had to endure. But gradually, Finnick began to recover, and after seven months, twenty-three surgeries, and countless hours of physical therapy each day, she was still there. 

     By now, they had settled into a comfortable rhythm in District 13. After the doctors finally confirmed Finnick to be stable, Annie was put back to work on the assembly lines, but she didn’t mind it so much now that they were making home appliances for District families rather than weapons for the war. After her morning shift, she’d often stop at the library to check out books or games before she’d pick up their lunches in the cafeteria and take them to Finnick’s room. By the time she got there, Finnick was usually just finishing up his physical therapy session, and they’d eat lunch, read, play games, or do anything else they could think of to occupy their afternoon within the confines of Finnick’s hospital room. 

     Annie walked with their lunch containers stacked between her hands, her steps quickening as she reached the hospital wing. She couldn’t help but begin to grin in anticipation—she couldn’t wait to hear Finnick’s voice, to see his smile. But she stopped short as she reached the open doorway to his room, and her jaw dropped open as she caught sight of the mirror clutched in his gnarled hand. 

- 

     He’d seen himself glimpses of himself in the mirror in the months following the explosion, but this was the first time he’d had a chance to study his new face—his marbled, bald scalp, his crumpled, lopsided ears, his drooping eyelids, half-formed nose, crooked lips…Finnick gazed at himself in the hand-held mirror, and the longer he looked, the more his heart sank. 

     “Where did you get that?” 

     Finnick jumped at the sudden sound of Annie’s voice, and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with concern. 

     He managed a rueful smile as he shrugged, “I lifted it off of one of the nurses while she wasn’t looking.” 

     “Why?” Annie approached him cautiously. 

     Finnick glanced at his reflection before he murmured, “I thought it was time…” 

     She settled on the edge of his bed, her voice gentle as she asked him, “Are you okay?” 

     He shrugged again, sniffing at the tears that prickled at his eyes, “It’s just that…the only reason most people have ever liked me is because of the way I looked. What’s going to happen now?” Finnick looked at her, uncertainty glistening in his eyes. 

     Annie reached out and brushed her fingertips against his marred cheek. “There’s nothing that could ever happen to you that would change how much I love you.” 

     “Are you sure?” his voice wavered with doubt. 

     She smiled at him, “You know I’ve been seeing you this whole time.”

     He grinned anxiously, “Maybe you’re trying to let me down slowly.” 

     Annie let out a laugh as she shook her head. “I mean it. You’d feel the same way if something happened to me, wouldn’t you?” 

     A glint of mischief flickered in his eye, “Well…” 

     She gaped at him, grinning, “Well what?!”

     “It depends. I’d have to see what you looked like.” Finnick reached over and grabbed a bandage spool from one of the doctor’s trays. Annie could hardly control her fit of giggles as Finnick wrapped her forehead, her nose, all the way down to her chin. Finally, he sat back to inspect her, and a smile spread across his crooked lips, “Yeah, I think I still love you.” 

     With a grin, Annie leaned in and kissed him. Finnick lingered in her touch for a moment, until another question pressed his mind. 

     “What’s he going to think?” he asked as he ran a hand over Annie’s pregnant belly. 

     The pregnancy had come as a surprise to both of them—they certainly hadn’t planned to conceive a child in the days before Finnick left for war. He was barely hanging onto life when Annie found out she was expecting, and at first she was so overwhelmed by the possibility of carrying a fatherless child she nearly fainted in the nurse’s office. But now that Finnick was stable and growing stronger each day, the baby was feeling more and more like a blessing. 

     “He won’t even know the difference,” she told Finnick as she laced her fingers over his. 

     “That’s a scary thought,” he smirked. 

     “It doesn’t have to be,” Annie stroked his fingers with her thumb. “You’re going to have two people who love you no matter what.” 

     Finnick took a deep breath, “If that’s the only way I’m going to get people to like me, we’re going to have to have a lot more babies.” 

     Annie laughed as she retrieved the lunch containers from where she’d set them on the end table. “Eat,” she told him. “There’ll be plenty more time for baby talk.”


End file.
